Thief In The Night
by Snape's Nightie
Summary: Snape and Hagrid have a brush with danger when a secret mission goes wrong. The repercussions of that moment lead to a brush with something else altogether. Quite light, sweet SS/RH non-graphic SLASH.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling and I am using them for fun, not profit, with no disrespect intended.

Warning: This will be slashy, but not very hardcore. If you don't like that sort of thing, I suggest you go elsewhere.

xxx

True to character, Albus had provided as little information as possible. Rather less typically, he had seemed almost flustered he hauled Snape out of bed at dawn on a Saturday morning and delivered instructions by floo from the Ministry.

His meeting with the aurors had obviously lasted all night and would continue for some time yet, its discussion so vital that it prevented Dumbledore from undertaking this task himself, as he so clearly wished to do. Mixing his flusterment with flattery which Snape found not displeasing despite the transparency of the old man's motives, the headmaster delegated his vital task to his _most highly trusted_ lieutenant and returned to the conference.

Snape was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes when the green flames died down. Blinking at the clock, he took stock of the situation.

It was thirty-eight minutes past six. Hagrid had suffered an accident while on some daring or more likely foolhardy mission in a distant location and had to be extricated swiftly and secretly before harm befell him. The apparating co-ordinates were at that precise moment writing themselves in Albus's flamboyant handwriting on his notepad and an object that was possibly a dead yeti had materialised at the foot of the bed.

Snape decided to ignore both new developments until he had put himself on the outside of the large murky coffee that appeared at the same moment, after which the situation would hopefully grow less irksome.

After a second look, the dead yeti turned out to be a long, thick and, since it bore the nametape "P.U. Dumbledore", very _old_ fur coat.

xxx

Whiteness.

As he waited for the disorientation of long-distance apparition to pass and the world to stop spinning, Snape could register only dazzling white. As his balance and focus returned, he was aware of mountains - massive, awe-inspiring, solid peaks smashing through the landscape in every direction. A second later, he became aware of the cold. The snow covered almost every surface of jagged peaks and plunging ravines, with a very occasional claw of rock ripping its way through the suffocating layer, its dirty grey dullness only making the general whiteness shine even brighter.

Shivering, he pulled up the hood of the ancient coat and buried his hands in the fluffy pockets. His left fingers came into contact with the dark glasses at the same time his right found the fur-lined gloves.

"Ha!" he exclaimed aloud, glad of Albus' foresight. Or possibly even Percival's, since the coat had once belonged to him.

"Ha, ha, ha," echoed off the towering peaks above him for and awe-inspiring few seconds until the last "ha" turned into a "hey."

Snape frowned. Hey?

"Hey!" The foreign call came again, this time definitely not a reverberated laugh and in a very familiar voice.

"Hagrid?" he shouted.

"Yes!"

"Where are you?"

"Down 'ere!" echoed from everywhere.

Snape sighed and pulled out his wand.

"Point me."

So much of the Order's activity was secret, Snape knew better than to question the groundskeeper on what exactly he had been doing when the small avalanche had swept him off his feet and wedged him firmly into the narrow ravine. A single piece of jutting rock was all that kept him suspended above the sheer two hundred foot drop, pinning him at the waist to the cliff-face behind. Some tricky advanced levitation work took care of the situation and soon they were both sitting safely on solid ground, breathless with exertion.

"Professor," Hagrid gasped at Snape, "I've never been so glad ter see anyone in my life!"

Snape smirked. Heroism was a trait he despised in others, but was extremely pleasurable to perform oneself. He let the half-giant shower him with heartfelt praise and gratitude for a few delicious minutes (well, he seldom heard so much as a murmur of thanks from anyone else for all his efforts) before deciding to risk a joke. Humour was not a trait he demonstrated often either, but something had occurred to him and it seemed a pity to waste it.

Pointing at the ample belly, the part of Hagrid which had got stuck in the rock and so prevented him being swept to his death, Snape said: "I imagine you're glad today that you always have third helpings at dinner."

Hagrid looked blank for an awful second, just long enough for Snape to wish that he hadn't tried to meddle with things he never really understood. Then the giant clutched at the area in question and positively bellowed with laughter. Reassured, Snape joined in with a cautious hiss of amusement.

"I am that!" howled Hagrid, rolling from side to side with mirth. "Third helpings! Hah hah!"

Once again, the mountainscape echoed so that the "hah hahs" seemed to be coming from all around. This amused the adrenaline-soaked Hagrid even more and made his guffaws louder until they sounded as though they were vibrating in the air and even shaking the snow-covered ground.

Which, Snape only realised when it was too late, was exactly what they were doing.

xxx

The second heroic act of Snape's day held much more significance in his eyes as this time, he saved his own life too. Only the lightning reflexes of someone accustomed to dealing with adolescents and dangerous boiling substances for several years would have been fast enough to spot the slight overhang of rock and catapult them both into the lea of it just as the mountain began to fracture and collapse. Even with this miraculous little accident of geography, their survival was a very close thing. Rock, snow and ice thundered all around them as they tried to press their bodies into the side of the cliff. Laboratory bench-sized sized boulders bounced deafeningly off the ledge above their heads and muddy waves of snow surged through the shelter, threatening to drag them down to doom in the roaring apocalypse.

xxx

Snape was only aware that he had lost consciousness when he was being gently shaken awake. His ears were ringing, but the world had stopped quaking and an extraordinary stillness had settled.

"Sir?" said Hagrid, very close. His big face was bruised, filthy and concerned.

"Mm?" he moaned.

"Are yeh all right?"

The answer required a little deliberation. His head hurt, but not excessively so. His ribs were rather sore. His right wrist felt swollen but not broken…right wrist? Some deep-seated alarm bell in the back of his brain began to trill. Right wrist? Right hand? Right hand!

"My wand!" he sat up sharply. "Hagrid! Where is it?! Where's my wand?!"

Hagrid swallowed and looked grim.

"Gone."

xxx

It transpired that Hagrid had repaid his life-debt almost immediately after incurring it. The force of the avalanche had pushed tonnes of snow and loose rock past their ledge and all around, at one point almost pulling the smaller of the two men out. Hagrid had managed to get hold of the fur coat and cling on, anchoring Snape to the spot although the flood had tried its best to take him.

The wand in his unconscious hand must have joined the landslide and been carried away.

"Gone," repeated Snape numbly. The utter helplessness of being trapped, wandless, in a tiny space underneath possibly tonnes of fallen rock, with no idea of his exact location and no one save a very busy Dumbledore with any idea he was missing, raised a violent wave of panic inside him. He began to shiver.

"You'd best get that wet coat off," suggested Hagrid calmly, as though they were sitting in his hut and not in dire peril. The coat was soaked through with filthy slush and had been torn in places when he had almost been dragged down the mountain, none of which facts would have been of consequence had either wizard been in possession of a wand. As matters stood, however, Snape was powerless to dry it and began to feel completely wretched. When he failed to respond, Hagrid reached over and peeled it off with gentleness surprising for such a large person. Perhaps, Snape noted dully, Hagrid was under the impression that his companion was in shock and required special handling. When he realised that he was still shivering, Snape had to concede that perhaps he was and so perhaps he did.

"Here," Hagrid unbuttoned his own huge winter jacket and buried Snape underneath it.

"I can't take this," he protested crossly, after fighting his way out from under the gigantic hood. "You need it. I'm not some damsel in distress!" Either the remark or the sight of the normally stiff potions master looking small and lost inside the garment amused Hagrid. He began chuckling.

"Well, I've got a lot of insulation from all those third helpings of dinner yeh mentioned before. Beg pardon but there's not an ounce to spare on you, sir, and you've been hurt, so I think it makes better sense fer you to have it until we get rescued."

"Rescued?" The word perked Snape up a little. "Does someone else know where you are?" Hagrid looked at him oddly.

"Professor Dumbledore, of course. He sent you to get me, didn't he?"

Snape deflated once more.

"He is in a top secret meeting that could last all day. It might be hours before he misses us."

"Hah," the indefatigable groundskeeper chuckled again. "That's all right. We can last a few hours. I can't dig us out fer fear of disturbing any more landslides, but I did manage to find a nice air hole up near the top, so we'll be proper snug in our little igloo until he finds us."

The situation was very far from ideal, but Snape had to concede that it could have been worse. Dumbledore had sounded very concerned about his favourite expelled ex-student. He would be bound to check if he had been safely brought back at the earliest opportunity, then finding him missing he would surely initiate a search.

"Will he find us under all this mess?" he grimaced, gesturing at the fallen rocks and compacted snow imprisoning them on all sides.

"O' course!" chuckled Hagrid, apparently enjoying the ghastly experience more than a sane man had any right to. "He'll have us out of here in a jiffy. Great man, Dumbledore."

Fervently hoping this to be the case, Snape drew the huge jacket around him and, exhausted from his ordeal, fell asleep.

xxx

When he woke again, it was very warm.

At first he thought that the late Percival Dumbledore's fur coat was the reason, then remembered it had got wet and been removed. Then he recalled being enveloped in Hagrid's massive winter jacket, a single sleeve of which would have been broad enough to comfortably accommodate him. Finally he realised that both ideas were wrong and the delightful toasty sensation had a far more organic source.

Hagrid must have grown cold despite his ample layers of insulating fat, rolled over in his sleep and found that Snape was the only source of heat in their den. He was clutching the smaller man, coat and all, against his massive chest like a first year with a teddy bear.

And it felt absolutely wonderful.

Snape had never been a tactile person and no one during the course of his life had seemed to want to touch him. He had little memory of parental affection, this had obviously petered out early on and what with wars, spying, shyness, grumpiness, self-loathing and a hundred other significant reasons, he had never actually managed to have a relationship.

Other people hugged each other all the time. In the staffroom. In the street. At Order meetings. Even at Death Eater meetings, or after them at any rate, when the _guest of honour_ had slithered away. Merlin knew, it was a full-time job trying to get the brats to keep their hands off each other at school. Until that moment, Snape had never really understood the reason for this, aside from chemical reactions or calculated malevolence on the part of those students who had discovered how much their pointless behaviour annoyed him. He had never had an inkling that being held by another person could be so…so…comforting.

Despite being stuck up a mountain underneath tonnes of collapsing rock, he felt perfectly safe. The slow beating of Hagrid's heart where his ear pressed against the enormous chest soothed away the horrors of their situation until all Snape could concentrate on was the amazing, intoxicating feeling of being cuddled. It was beautiful. He hoped it would never end.

xxx

"**HELLOOOOOOOO!" **

Snape woke with a start to find Hagrid kneeling up to a gap in the rocks above them and hollering through it. He grinned gleefully.

"I can hear the rescue party!"

"Quiet, you dunderhead!" Snape leaped up at once and dragged him back down. "Have you learned nothing from this disaster? Your loud voice caused the blasted avalanche in the first place!"

"Oh, yeah," he had the grace to look embarrassed. "But to be fair, it was 'cos your joke was so funny, sir."

Wrongfooted, Snape blinked.

"Was it?" he asked, honestly wanting to know. It was destined to be a day of firsts for the potions master. No one had ever thought him witty before. Hagrid was about to answer, when there were sounds outside and he popped up again to try and listen through the air hole. A chilling canine howl was heard directly over their heads.

"Oh good grief," snorted Snape. "Are we to be eaten alive by wolves now?"

"That's not a wolf, sir!" Hagrid practically burst with joy. "That's Fang!"

xxx


	2. Chapter 2

Snape was very thankful that Order work was so secret. By Saturday suppertime, his life was back to normal with no one but Dumbledore, Hagrid and the hound aware of the accident. To his even greater relief, a simple _accio_ had brought his wand flying into Dumbledore's hand, miraculously intact and buried in snow only a few feet away, so once his sprained wrist had been healed nothing remained to remind him of the episode. Or so he thought.

On Sunday morning, however, there appeared to be a small hangover of emotion from those anxious hours of imprisonment. Returning to the dungeon after breakfast, Snape was assailed by a most unusual sense of claustrophobia. His personal rooms, home and precious refuge for many years, now appeared too small, too dark and too deeply buried under the weight of the castle for his liking. Certain that the feeling would pass after some time in the fresh air, he bundled up a quill, red ink and a stack of fourth-year essays and made his way outside to the Quidditch pitch.

If the Slytherin team and reserves were surprised that he was supervising their practice session, they didn't show it and quietly carried on with their hands-free balance exercises while he stabbed away at the usual disheartening affirmations of ignorance. After twenty minutes of pouring forth red vitriol, he noticed that the fliers had finished their practice and decided to close proceedings with a "group hug." They were laughing and affectionately manhandling each other as Quidditch teams often did, yet on this occasion something about the action cut Snape right to the heart.

The surge of jealousy taking his breath away must have been Hagrid's fault.

The blasted cuddle of the previous day, the delicious, protective, perfect cuddle he had experienced on the mountain had obviously aroused some deeply-buried yearning for physical contact and a sort of affection-seeking urge was suggesting he fly over to join in the mass bonding. It was out of the question, of course. The horrible adolescents were not creatures any sane adult would wish to fondle, (irrespective of any actual laws against that sort of thing,) not to mention the likelihood of their dying of shock or horror at being so treated by their stern head of house.

Yet as he watched the casual, innocent touches, a great hollow feeling began to form in his stomach at the thought of _not _joining in. The incident with Hagrid had been a one-off, product of very singular circumstances unlikely to ever be repeated, which meant that Snape would never again be able to feel the amazing sensation of being hugged, no matter how much he might long for the experience. It was not to be borne! He had managed thus far in life without such nonsense, how could it be that just one taste of the unknown pleasure had apparently turned him into an addict?

Eyes stinging with furious disappointment, he packed up his ink and essays and stomped away from the pitch before he hexed his own team out of envy or frustration.

Unfortunately, his route back to the castle took him past the source of his distress. Hagrid was working in the pumpkin patch next to his hut, chatting to a disinterested Fang as he manoeuvred his huge wheelbarrow between the plants. The day was not particularly warm, but some kind of heavy physical activity had made him strip to his vest and the sheen of sweat on his skin was visible even from the distance where Snape stood. Without warning, Hagrid said, "hup!" and heaved the largest pumpkin up from the ground.

For a second, the muscles in his arms tensed into shapes Snape had only seen in paintings or sculptures of the classical gods. Though his belly was large and flabby and his overall size was surely too great to be described as attractive, Rubeus Hagrid's arms were a vision of power, a glorious sight of perfection upon which no mortal creature had any right to gaze. Not twenty-four hours previously, those heavenly limbs had been wrapped around Severus Snape and had briefly transformed his habitual misery into divine contentment. He could no longer wonder at the sense of loss eating away inside him. Anyone with the vaguest grasp of classical legend knew what happened to the poor humans who messed around with the gods.

Unable to bear any more torture, Snape slunk back down to the dark solitude of his dungeon.

xxx

That day and the night which followed were agony. Neither thought nor action deliberately undertaken as distraction were capable of dislodging Snape's obsession with the feel of those magnificent arms around him; only a clear sense of how pathetically he was behaving could keep pace. It was shaming to be brought so low by his body's newfound frailty.

The only comfort to be drawn from the abominable situation was that his skill at hiding his feelings had not been affected. He watched carefully for any unusual behaviour among his pupils or colleagues, any nudges or puzzled stares. Even the sharp eyes of Dumbledore and McGonagall who flanked him at lunch appeared not to mark anything out of the ordinary in his conduct, despite his failure to do more than prod at the excellent roast pork and apple sauce they were relishing.

By Monday evening, when even a full day of teaching plus an hour of watching miscreants undergo a particularly nasty detention session involving dried bundimun dung failed to shake off his affliction, Snape decided that he had to act.

His own schooldays had taught him how harshly the world judged boys who became too attached to other boys - not personally, thank Merlin! That particular lesson he had learned second-hand from what befell poor Adonis Clack in the year above him. From what he read in the newspaper, attitudes had changed a little since that time, but he knew that most men were very touchy about the idea of touching other men, and with Hogwarts being such a small community, he dare not risk his reputation by being open. Simply walking up to Hagrid and demanding regular affection was out of the question. Besides, even if the unlikely deity-made-flesh failed to take mortal offence, he might well simply refuse for reasons of personal taste.

So much for the honest option. He was therefore left with no alternative but to be dishonest.

xxx

"Oh, Hagrid! Don't be so silly! I insist!"

Snape, in stealthy devious mode since his decision to acquire what he craved by foul means rather than fair, slipped behind a wall-tapestry on hearing Sprout pronounce the wonderful name.

"Ah no, Professor," protested Hagrid, good-naturedly. "There was no need ter do that!"

"Your help with the devil's snare was invaluable, Hagrid, and it took up so much of your time," she protested. "This is just a very small token of thanks. I hope you won't offend me by refusing?"

"Well, if you put it like that," he conceded.

"Wonderful!" She exclaimed. Some sort of packaging crackled. "Miss Honeyduke told me they were a brand new variety she had developed herself, especially good for floating in cocoa!"

"I do like a cuppa cocoa last thing at night, that's for sure."

"So, will you take the _mushmallows_?"

"I'd love to. Thanks, ma'am," said Hagrid jovially. Crackle.

Behind the hanging, Snape groaned silently. One could hear the warmth of cuddly affection in the groundskeeper's voice. At the sound, his own skinny arms had tightened around him in some pathetic imitation of a hug without any direction from his brain, only serving to fuel his determination to taste the real thing once again.

Painful though it was to be so near to what he could not have, at least those moments of eavesdropping had proved useful. His quarry, it seemed, regularly drank cocoa before bed. Snape filed away the fact as being potentially very handy for his plans.

xxx

A quick dash to the hut after Hagrid had led his third year Care of Magical Creatures students off into the forest (for what would doubtless prove to be a highly dangerous encounter with nature) rewarded Snape with Hagrid's cocoa stash.

He had not been fooled by the lettering on the battered metal tin which declared its contents to be worming tablets. Only a few seconds of searching had revealed that the caddy labelled "Tea" contained salt, the can of "Podkiss's Perfect Plimpy Paste" (best before: Dec '74) was actually teabags with a few humbugs thrown in for good measure and the "Cocoa" jar was lying on its side in a dark corner of the kitchen. When Snape approached it, a little furry snout stuck out of the end and sniffed at him.

Dreamless Sleep potion had only 35% efficiency when powdered, so the potions master had whipped up a large measure of Out-Cold that morning and now desiccated it carefully, stirring it in with the chocolate powder once it had cooled. Any difference in taste would likely be attributed to the ridiculous marshmallows which Hagrid would be sure to add to his nightly brew. Out-Cold was not a potion in common use these days, except by those allergic to the octurvice extract in Dreamless Sleep. Unlike its more popular rival, it positively encouraged crazy dreams so that anyone taking it would awaken the following morning perfectly refreshed, but alarmed at having imagined in vivid detail that doughnuts were vampirical or that their granny was actually a horse.

For Snape's plan to succeed, Hagrid had to be very deeply asleep. The occasional strange dream might confuse him, but would do no real harm, he reasoned. Better to introduce the potion this way than by uncharacteristic gestures such as presenting Hagrid with gifts like Sprout had, or worse, leaving anonymous bottles of wine on the doorstep. Hagrid's routine was to make his cocoa from hot milk and powder, so if he did begin to wonder about the sudden change in his overnight imaginings, he would never suspect the reason lay inside his trusty old tin.

Snape checked the clock. There was plenty of time to replace the doctored cocoa before the class and their teacher returned from the forest. He did so and walked calmly back to the dungeons, struggling to hide his triumph and anticipation. This was all so easy! He would soon have achieved his goal, with the minimum of effort.

xxx


	3. Chapter 3

The night air was alive with owl calls as Snape crept up the steps of the hut for his third clandestine visit in 24 hours.

The lights had been extinguished over an hour ago, so if everything had gone according to plan, Hagrid ought to be fast asleep. The door opened noiselessly and Snape slid inside, all his senses searching for the first hint of danger but finding only Fang, who raised his head in a bored way from his basket. Knowing there was nothing to fear from that quarter bar an unwanted slobbering, Snape padded over and stroked the big square head reassuringly until his erstwhile rescuer yawned and went back to sleep.

The faint glimmer of wand-light preventing him falling over any furniture was just enough to show the clean mug, saucepan and spoon on the draining rack next to Hagrid's kitchen sink and Snape's grin on seeing them. Evidently, Hagrid had made his cocoa as usual with no suspicion of the unusual new ingredient.

Stealthily, the intruder made his way to the bedroom and paused at the sight of the huge figure in the bed. This was the most dangerous moment of the whole enterprise. He prepared an excuse in case something had gone wrong and cleared his throat.

"Hagrid?" He said in a voice loud enough to wake even a heavy sleeper.

Nothing stirred in the gloomy room.

"Hagrid? Are you awake? Hagrid!"

Several enquires went unanswered before he dared believe it had worked. After that, only years of self-taught self-control stopped him from clapping his hands or jigging up and down on the spot with excitement. Casting a charm-alarm on his wand so that it vibrated in his breast pocket half an hour later, Snape very carefully lowered himself onto the bed and stretched out, still booted and cloaked in case he needed to make a swift escape. Still, Hagrid made no movement but for the slow in- and exhalations of deep sleep.

Snape lay perfectly immobile for perhaps a minute, nervous of proceeding any further despite his initial success. Already he had crossed the line of decent behaviour by entering the other man's home at the dead of night and lying next to him on his own bed with no invitation. What he was about to do next would trump even the rudeness of those howling social trespasses and turn him into an out-and-out thief.

He rolled towards Hagrid's inert form and stole a cuddle.

This feeling of pure rapture defeated even Snape's iron willpower and an audible sigh of pleasure whispered through his lips. It was more perfect than he remembered! Hagrid was not only large, soft, warm and the force for sweet comfort which had intoxicated him until he overrode all reason and embarked on this shocking plan, but he also smelled wonderful. It was an earthy scent - forest, dog, fresh air and male sweat, so delicious that the potions master was astounded at having missed it the first time. He buried his nose in the shoulder of Hagrid's pyjama top and breathed it in, breathed _him_ in, for breath after breath. Too many heady sensations made it difficult to gauge time, but Snape had been luxuriating in the smell for several minutes when a big hand gently came to rest on his side.

In his sleep, Hagrid must have moved to embrace the source of warmth next to him, as he had done on the mountain. Now, as then, Snape snuggled inside the safety of the hug and sighed with happiness until the alarm marked the end of his deceitful thirty minutes.

Not daring to stay longer lest the potion wore off or some curfew-breaking student decided to pop in and disturb Hogwarts' favourite agony-uncle, Snape forced himself to withdraw and return to the castle. As he opened the door of the hut, the night air felt very cold after Hagrid's cosy body heat. He pulled his cloak tightly around him and made his way home, smiling in victory.

xxx

He slipped the tiny door into a pocket as he left the dungeons on the second night, still nervous but keen for a repeat of yesterday's delights.

Apart from being only three inches high, the model was an exact replica of the door to Snape's rooms and he was extremely proud of it. The spells which bound it to the original meant that anyone trying to contact the head of Slytherin would have their knocking secretly transferred to the model door, wherever it happened to be, so Snape could floo back quickly and answer as though he had been behind the full-size version all along.

As he was on house-duty overnight for six nights of the week, the first port of call for every little snake with colic or whining tale-teller on the losing end of a nocturnal hexing-duel, he really had no business being outside the castle walls after bedtime. Now his night off was gone for another week, the ingenious model meant that he could spend some time stealing Hagrid-hugs without shirking his responsibilities. A polite request would be enough to set the Bloody Baron gliding regularly through the corridors as a deterrent to wanderers.

This time, once he had checked that Hagrid had made cocoa and was sound asleep, Snape spelled off his boots before lying on top of the blankets and stealing another wonderful cuddle from the man underneath.

xxx

On the third night, he could not bear to leave when the half-hour alarm went off, so he stopped it and allowed himself another ten minutes of bliss. Then another. It felt even more daring than any of his exploits so far, but as no one would ever know, he felt it made no difference.

xxx

On the fourth night, he set the alarm to activate in an hour's time.

xxx

By the fifth night, he was removing boots _and_ cloak before wriggling in beside the sleeping giant.

xxx

On the sixth night, he fell asleep. The vibration of his wand woke him, it appeared, immediately after lying down, although a time-telling spell showed that he had slept next to Hagrid for two hours. Disgruntled at having missed enjoying his nightly treat, he stole another half hour, muttering aloud at his stupidity.

xxx

One week after his first theft, he encountered a problem.

Each night thus far, he had entered Hagrid's room to find him asleep on his side underneath the covers, with an arm draped over the top. It had been a simple matter to settle his thin body parallel and so close that the mighty arm graduated naturally around it. On this occasion, however, he was confounded by a change of position.

Hagrid was lying on his back with only his head outside the blankets. If Snape lay next to him now, he could only gain a little body heat - no protection, no security and no cuddle. He stood uncertainly for a moment in the near-darkness before deciding that as he had been awaiting the rare, off-duty hug with eager anticipation all day, there was no way he could leave without it. Hagrid would have to be moved.

_Mobilicorpus _had no effect whatsoever. After trying a few other spells for moving people, he remembered reading somewhere that giants, one of the most ancient magical species on earth, were often impervious to those wizard's curses which were designed for use on other human beings. Undaunted, Snape laid down his wand and stripped off his cloak and over-tunic. Just as Hagrid had inherited characteristics of both humans and giants, so was Snape part sneering pureblooded wizard and part working-class Northern muggle, aware that good honest sweat never hurt anyone.

"Hagrid?"

Reassuring silence answered his final check, as it had seven nights ago.

"Hagrid? Are you awake?" This time, there was a textbook standard growling snore, followed by a whistled exhalation.

Snape knelt on the edge of the bed and with great effort, attempted to push the huge dead weight underneath the blankets onto its side. When Hagrid resolutely stayed put, he tried harder and pushed and pushed until his muscles ached and a vein in his temple began to throb in a way that was probably not healthy, all to no avail. Hagrid would not budge. He was simply too large and too unwieldy to be manoeuvred from his recumbent, gravity-assisted location by a weedy wizard less than half his size.

The sensible thing to do, Snape reasoned darkly, would be to jab him with a pin or other sharp implement and hope that his unconscious instincts made him roll over under his own steam. Puffing slightly from his exertions, he conjured a stout hatpin in the style of the offensive weapon McGonagall used to skewer that dreadful tartan hat to her chignon and drew back the covers, ready to prick Hagrid's bare arm.

Unfortunately, the brightness of the moonlight meant that he was now afforded a perfect view of that perfect arm as it rested on the bed. The incredible muscletone was less pronounced than during those breathtaking few seconds when it had heaved up the largest pumpkin of the season, but it was nevertheless an enchanting sight. Close up, Snape could see the whole beauty of it - thick hair in all the right places, a few moles, a crescent of small scars made by something's teeth… The pin popped out of existence once more as Snape realised that there was no way he could do anything to harm the magnificent limb while its owner remained helpless as a babe in his drugged sleep. The potions master would just have to miss out on his stolen affection for a night, unappealing as the conclusion was. One simply could not go around mistreating works of art like that.

He was about to replace the covers and make his way back to dungeon unfulfilled, when the other arm, the one on the far side of Hagrid's massive body, began to move. It rose with majestic slowness and began moving in Snape's direction. He froze. Hagrid gave another ripe, gargling snore and it continued its journey through the air and settled sleepily on the admirer's shoulder. Its opposite number then shot upwards and wrapped around Snape's waist and they both drew him down until he was flush against Hagrid's body.

The following few snores could barely make themselves heard above the tumultuous pounding of blood in Snape's ears.

There were no blankets between them now to preserve that last modicum of decency. Only the thin layers of Snape's shirt and Hagrid's short-sleeved pyjama top stopped the bare flesh of these unlikely bedfellows touching, a level of physical intimacy which was most alien to Snape. He could hear the larger man's heartbeat, feel his breath, sense the vibrations of his snores and rise and fall along with the rhythm of his respiration.

Best of all, both of those arms were gripping him as though they never intended to let go.

"Kill me now," Snape murmured incoherently, through the heady fug of endorphins pouring into his brain. For how could he return to the dull unfairness of his life after knowing such soaring ecstasy as this?

After four hours of stolen indecency, by which time dawn had arrived and set the birds of the forest to their symphony of diverse warbles and squawks, Snape dragged his protesting body away from Hagrid's arms and forced himself out of the door. A chill Highland mist had settled damply between the hut and the castle so that neither was visible from the other, which to Snape's unusually romanticised thoughts only accentuated the gulf between Real Life and the joy of the previous night. As he reached the dungeon entrance to the school, he looked back to where Hagrid's home had disappeared into the cloud as though it had never existed.

Shoving the door open with violent force, he shook his head angrily to try and clear it. More of this and he would become some kind of dreadful, disgusting, sentimental…_poet. _He almost spat at the word. There was really no need for such unnatural wistfulness and soppy behaviour.

Of course Hagrid had not disappeared into the early morning mist, nor was such a substantial living creature ever likely to. He would drink his adulterated cocoa as usual that night and Snape would sneak out as usual and steal his fill of cuddles. And if he wanted to steal them from underneath the blankets from now on he bloody well would, and without simpering about it!

xxx


	4. Chapter 4

Night eight was perfect.

Night nine was wonderful.

Night ten was delicious until second-year Tamara Keppel knocked on his real door and therefore also on the small model door in his back pocket at 2:45am, because Peeves had peeped over the top of the cubicle when she went for a night-time toilet trip.

Waking in his own bed on the morning of day eleven instead of wrapped around Hagrid due to the interruption, Snape consoled himself with the thought of being a mere seventeen hours away from more stolen hugs. By the evening, he was checking his watch every five minutes in the hope that more time had passed and it was almost midnight. Sadly, the precious hour was still far off and before he could slip away to the hut, there was an evening meeting of the Order of the Phoenix to be endured.

"Order" was a misnomer, Snape decided as he surveyed the kitchen. The idea of re-christening the group as the "Disorder of the Phoenix" amused and sustained him through the tedious early stages where members arrived in dribs and drabs (didn't any of them have understand the concept of punctuality?), greeted each other with exclamations and clichés or drank endless cups of tea. Black was lying face down on a corner of the table, dead drunk, tactfully ignored by everyone. Mundungus had something in a cardboard box under the table and kept opening the top flap to check on it. Tonks had the back of her robe accidentally tucked in her knickers. Moody was glaring at Snape with his habitual ferocity.

Lupin looked like hell, his face almost as grey as his moustache and the Weasley woman was fussing over him with hot broth and a knitted scarf.

"…really, not as bad as I seem, Molly. Thanks anyway. I'm just not sleeping."

"I've got some Dreamless Sleep at home, dear, I'll bring you some round after the meeting."

"That's awfully kind of you to offer, but I'm allergic to Dreamless Sleep."

Snape snorted. No one was allergic to a potion, only to the ingredients in it. Trust the foul beast to be so ignorant. Anyway, there was no need to waste good potions when a hearty smack round the head with a silver mallet would be the perfect remedy for his insomnia. Snape was sure he could locate one without too much effort.

"Are you really?" asked Mrs Weasley in disbelief. "Goodness me. Well, how about the other one. Oh, what's it called? The old-fashioned stuff my granny used to take. You know, the weeping heroines are always sipping draughts of it in historical novels. Knockout? No, er…Out-Cold! That's it! I'm sure I can get you some…"

"Thanks, Molly. It's really jolly decent of you to take so much trouble over me. I've tried Out-Cold. Apparently it only works on humans."

Snape smirked at her consternation.

"Oh, but…but you're human _most_ of the time, dear. Aren't you?"

"Not biologically, I'm afraid. I tried it when I was small and there was no effect, so Mum dug out some of granddad's old potions books and apparently you have to be fully, completely 100% human for it to work. Not werewolf, or half-veela, or quarter-goblin or anything else. It won't harm a part-human, it just won't make them sleep…"

The smirk evaporated from Snape's face and a sensation of sick dread settled over him.

It couldn't be true. Could it?

How was it possible for that nauseating drip of a dark creature to know more about potions than Severus Snape? Surely the beast's mother had stumbled on an old wives' tale all those years ago. It was out of the question. Pure nonsense. Because if he was right then Hagrid, the half-giant, proven impervious to some spells as was only proper given his heredity, had been unaffected by the Out-Cold potion in his cocoa.

And if this was the case, then he must have been awake all along.

Dumbledore arrived at that moment, prompting a chorus of greetings and then a general settling down to business, not that Snape could comprehend much beyond his own alarm. He stared blankly at the table in front of him, mind racing in two opposite directions at once. Lupin was either wrong and an idiot, or he wasn't and Snape was. He _had_ to know.

"…I'm afraid this might take a long time, ladies and gentlemen," Albus smiled apologetically. "If we are to fully understand this troubling development, we will need at least two hours…"

_Two hours!_ The trauma of not knowing would have killed Snape long before then. There was no point in staying to listen to the fools guzzle more tea and drone on about nothing, so he deftly prepared his escape. He stiffened suddenly in his seat and subtly, but not too subtly, drew his left forearm against his body protectively. As he had hoped, Albus and Moody noticed. He nodded minutely to Albus, who nodded back with a quick flash of sympathy in his eyes.

Snape was away before any of the others understood and had chance to stare at him with horror or revulsion, disapparating as soon as he was over the threshold of the Black house and then flinging himself through Hogwarts' main gates and down the path. He was tempting fate, he reflected, as he tore through the corridors and up the stairs to the library. The Dark Lord had been more occupied with the others for the last fortnight, allowing him the opportunity to visit Hagrid in peace. He would tell Albus that nothing much had happened at the meeting he was supposed to have been summoned to, just like so many of the Order's.

"Can't you read? The library is closed!" came Pince's disembodied voice from somewhere behind a shelf as he hurried into the room, still going at full speed.

"Good," he replied as smoothly as he could with the limited breath available. "No students to get in the way."

"Oh, Professor! Sorry, I didn't…"

Single-mindedly, he strode past her and down to the dustier areas of the potions section. After an hour of grappling with leather and metal bound volumes weighing more than he did, (Victorian potions masters famously believed that all serious books should be simultaneously heavy of prose and heavy in physical substance), the answer was found in a copy of a very short and flimsily-bound thesis entitled "Sundry Observations on the Metabolic Freakishness of Non-Human Bipeds, with Particular Regard to Potions In Common Domestic Use."

No matter how long he stared at the dreadful sentence, the words remained fixed in damning black and white. The werewolf's mother had been correct. The potion he had used to spike Hagrid's cocoa would have made no difference to a half-giant's sleeping habits.

Snape steadied himself against a shelf as confusion and embarrassment made his knees tremble. All this time he had believed that Hagrid lay innocently sleeping while he was used and, he admitted it, _abused_, yet this was far from the case. Hagrid had been just as deceitful, not responding when his name was called and pretending to sleep while the other man had entered his room then his bed, even faking snores while Snape did his illicit snuggling.

It beggared belief that a hearty Gryffindor so utterly bereft of the ability to lie or even keep a secret he had been sworn to protect was capable of this sustained charade. What on earth had Hagrid been thinking?!


	5. Chapter 5

PART TWO

Hagrid struggled to catch his breath.

Individual rocks could still be heard tumbling down the mountainside, but the main deluge seemed to be over. He forced his fingers to release their grip on the Professor's fur coat now that he was in the little den and apparently in no further danger of being swept to his death by the avalanche. He was unconscious, but his breathing and heartbeat were strong and regular so he would hopefully come round before long. Hagrid laid him down carefully in what was probably the most solid part of their lifesaving shelter and looked around at the impacted snow and debris walling them both in.

By rights, he ought to be feeling some kind of ancient affinity with the mountains and their geography, what with being descended from a race whose natural habitat was the higher, craggier and more avalanche-prone parts of the world. He sat still and closed his eyes for a moment, hoping that any lingering genetic instincts would come to the fore in this desperate situation and give him some idea of what he was supposed to do now. Apart from an ominous creak far above him, nothing happened.

Resigning himself to being stuck with only human intelligence and wishing he had more of that, Hagrid applied his brain. He and Professor Snape had survived this far thanks to the ledge of rock protecting them from being crushed or swept over the ravine. There could be no telling how many tonnes of heavy material was heaped on top of them now, or whether further movement would cause the weight of the whole lot to make the roof collapse and kill them before they had the chance to be rescued.

He had dropped the pink umbrella concealing his old wand just after he managed to send a distress call to Professor Dumbledore while wedged above oblivion. It had popped open as it tumbled away from him, slowly descending towards the sheer drop below and finally twirling elegantly out of view behind some pointy-looking splinters of rock which would certainly have made mincemeat of his falling body, had his fat belly not caused him to stick in the narrow crevice only three yards down.

So he was wandless. A brief search revealed that the Professor's wand had also gone, snatched away by the landslide which had also tried to claim its owner. There was no telling how long Professor Dumbledore might take to realise that his colleagues were in trouble, or whether he would be able to locate them in time. Hagrid decided he could not bear to sit still with the threat of doom hanging over him and carefully began to dig, scraping away at the muddy snow at the far side of the den with a flat stone.

Not much headway had been made when the wall and ceiling around him began an ominous trembling and he sprang away from it, scuttling in a defensive crouch back to the more solid-looking part next to the unconscious Professor. Perhaps some giant instinct was alive in him after all, he mused as with an almighty "whumph!" the area where he had been digging gave way, scattering slushy shingle all over the wizards.

The safe haven was now half the size it had been.

Hagrid swallowed and laid down his makeshift shovel. No more digging, then. They would simply have to wait either until help arrived, or until further collapses squashed them.

Next to him, Professor Snape stirred and gave a little moan. Glad of the distraction from the dreadful realisation that he was probably going to die very soon, Hagrid leaned over and tried to rouse him.

Perhaps the cleverer man would be able to find a way to get them out. Slytherins were notoriously good at saving their own skins and Professor Dumbledore had tremendous regard for the resourcefulness of this one. The bright black eyes, which Hagrid had observed years ago shining dangerously in the pale face of the teenage Snape had practically crackled with intelligence since the adult version had returned to the castle to teach. Despite his distrust of dark wizards and the serpent house, Hagrid had been unable to stop admiring a man who could take a whisker from a kneazle and some bark from a conker tree and in ten minutes have the power to re-grow a severed limb. His concoctions had helped many of Hagrid's dearest furry friends over the years, not to mention his young human ones. Snape's less than friendly personality often reminded him of an interesting creature, all claw and tooth and constantly tensed ready to lash out in aggressive defence, but no less endearing than the fluffier animals when tamed. Probably. To his knowledge, no one had yet managed to tame Professor Snape. Dumbledore had come closest, he thought, but, er, perhaps not close enough to tickle him behind the ears.

He shook the silly thought away as the potions master's eyelids began to flutter.

"Sir?" said Hagrid, leaning over him.

"Mm?" he moaned.

"Are yeh all right?"

He recovered then, but looked so shocked and miserable in the sodden old fur coat that Hagrid could not bear to share his thoughts on the hopelessness of their plight.

Later, as the Professor slept buried inside the groundskeeper's larger but drier jacket, he watched over him feeling oddly protective, as he would over an injured creature. Then the despair at being dangerously trapped washed over him once more and he suddenly wished Fang were there, soft and daft and good to cuddle whenever he needed some support.

xxx

Impossible as it seemed while stuck high up in a cave that at any moment could become a tomb, Hagrid realised that he must have fallen asleep, because his own snoring had woken him (as it sometimes did) and he was hugging the infinitely soppy and fuss-fixated Fang. Then he remembered that Fang was not there, so the warm hairy thing in his arms must be something else. He opened his eyes properly and looked down to see…

…Professor Snape wearing Hagrid's horsehair coat. He was going to have his innards hexed out for molesting the prickly wizard as he slept! Only, he recalled with relief, neither of them had wands, so he was actually quite safe. Or _probably_ quite safe.

In sleep, Snape looked much less formidable. The scowling mouth relaxed and the brow was no longer furrowed with annoyance, but it was the eyes which held Hagrid's attention. The sharp, all-seeing black tunnels slept behind their lids so that two semicircles of lashes lay against the delicate purplish skin of the bags below. Worry, potions fumes, exhaustion, even under-nourishment - Hagrid guessed at the causes of these dark circles and sighed. Snape wasn't the only one suffering, of course. He had noticed himself ageing more rapidly since the return of You-Know-Who, as well as all the adults at Hogwarts. The children were even worse to look at. The carefree openness of young faces was very rarely glimpsed nowadays, as the youngsters were aware of the danger and struggles which lay ahead, robbing them of the best years of their lives.

Snape had been fighting bravely for a long time now and it was no wonder that his appearance showed what he had been through. It would be such a shame if he had worked so hard and given up his youth only to die here, the victim of some unlucky accident. He gave a shiver and those unexpectedly long eyelashes fluttered but didn't wake.

Without knowing exactly why, Hagrid wrapped an arm around Snape once more and hugged him. It felt right.

xxx

It was over so quickly that Hagrid found he had to keep pausing during his normal routine to ask himself whether the avalanche had really happened or if it had all been a dream.

No one but Dumbledore and Snape knew and he didn't get the impression that they were keen to talk about it, so he had no choice but to carry on (wasn't that what you were supposed do in a crisis anyway? Keep calm and carry on?) as though he hadn't almost been horribly killed twice in quick succession. Fang was no help at all. The only time he had been desperate enough to share some of the wild emotions which had gone through his head as they lay trapped, the cowardly hound had put his paws over his ears and whimpered until Hagrid had felt guilty for traumatising him.

Hardly a stranger to distress, Hagrid had formed his own coping mechanism over the years. His wrongful expulsion from school, being thought a murderer, the death of his wonderful Dad, a spell in Azkaban with the Dementors and then the awful losses of the first war with You-Know-Who meant that he had discovered the best way to deal with trauma. He took refuge in his imagination to block out the bad memories. It was the only real option available.

His was a solitary job, spending lots of time working in the forest with only Fang for company, often eating alone in his hut when he knew he smelled too bad to appear in the great hall yet was too hungry to wash before dinner. He loved getting visits from his young friends, but these could be infrequent and with the current situation he was too afraid to go to the pub in Hogsmeade for distraction in case he accidentally betrayed some secret after a few drinks. Besides, there were Death Eaters lurking all over the place these days and he didn't have a replacement wand yet after the 'umbrella' had gone twirling away down the ravine.

So, as he worked alone, he allowed himself to dream the whole mountain incident differently. In his head, he and Snape might conjure snowboards and surf the avalanche like a wave, laughing off the danger and stopping with two stylish sprays of snow at the foot of the mountain. Snape would then flick his hair out of his face and give Hagrid a flash of glittering black-eyed smugness.

Or, Hagrid would grab Snape and open the umbrella, jump over the edge of the precipice and they would float away to safety through the crisp Alpine air.

As these fantasies developed over the following days, the nature of them began to change. Snape's eyelashes took a more prominent role and there would often be a requirement that the two wizards should cling to each other in order to escape/survive/keep warm. As scenarios became increasingly elaborate, Snape's quick wit and biting sarcasm featured along with the book-learned intelligence which Hagrid couldn't help finding attractive.

He soon found that he spent hours doing his chores as brainlessly as an inferi, while his mind soared away. Lifting a large pumpkin in the real world, in the stylised snowy landscape of his imagination his other self heaved a fallen boulder which had trapped Snape, while the potions master stared up at him in silent, dignified admiration. Later, after their triumphal return to Hogwarts, not secretly slinking back this time, there had been a knock on the cabin door.

"_Rubeus," Snape said, in his softest, sultriest voice. "Thank you for saving my life earlier."_

"_Won't you come in for a nightcap, Severus?" the fantasy-Hagrid offered, somehow smoother, smarter and smaller than the real thing._

"_Why, I'd love to," purred Snape._

…

A few days later, Hagrid lay in bed feeling very faintly sick after his evening cocoa. The marshmallows Professor Sprout had given him were very nice, but perhaps he shouldn't have had so many. As was usual now, he began formulating a nice fantasy to fall asleep with and hopefully to dream about - anything to try and drown out the real memory of rocks and ice thundering over his head as he and Snape had cowered in their little cave.

But his dreams were not reassuring this time. Bright colours streaked the sky and deafening noise shook the ground of the hut as Snape dashed away from the castle, shouting:

"_Hogwarts is collapsing, run for your life!"_

His feet would not move as he tried to get away. Welded to the spot he saw the Astronomy tower turn to a river of ice and pebbles, soon followed by Gryffindor tower then the rest of the castle so that an enormous flood of deadly debris was pouring towards the spot where he stood frozen, helpless.

The scene changed and Professor Dumbledore, who was wearing his father's huge fur coat on a scorching summer day, was ordering him to return to the mountains.

"_It's dangerous. I want a reward for risking my life again," Hagrid demanded with a coldness he would never have used in real life._

"_You may take these marshmallows," Dumbledore said, holding out a saucer of bright blue sweets._

"_No," said Hagrid, "I want Snape." The headmaster shook his head._

"_That's impossible. He's too valuable to be wasted on you," he said._

Blinking with disorientation as he woke from the startlingly vivid dreams, Hagrid struggled with the last part of the unreal conversation.

_I want Snape. _Was it true? Was that the basis for all of these fanciful imaginings? He had been assuming that his deliberate daydreams were a healthy way of working through the shock of the avalanche, but he now had to ask himself whether they had become something else. Over sixty years old, a lifelong bachelor and happily celibate, the half-giant was left with the disturbing feeling that he had suddenly begun to covet something which had never interested him before.

_That's impossible. He's too valuable to be wasted on you. _Well, if Hagrid's dreamed declaration was turning out to be true, then Professor Dumbledore's certainly was. Despite the dangerous attractions of the dark, brilliant eyes, no one could call Snape a beauty. However, he was certainly intelligent, young and exceptionally courageous - qualities much more important than physical handsomeness and enough to place him well out of Hagrid's clumsy reach.

Putting aside the depressing new revelations in favour of thinking about reaching for Snape, Hagrid dozed and held the Slytherin in his dreams instead.

"Hagrid!"

It was Professor Snape's voice, Hagrid recognised it at once as his sleepy mind tumbled from one disturbed fantasy to another.

"HAGRID!"

There was something wrong, though. It was not the low, commanding tone the Snape of his imagination used, nor the plainly sexual purr which was very pleasing to the ears. It was the one he used for shouting at pupils and Peeves, full of viciousness and the promise of unpleasant consequences - not the stuff of soothing daydream. Hagrid took stock of the situation. He was in bed in his home, it was dark and owls were hooting to each other outside. Everything felt real.

"Hagrid? Are you awake? Hagrid!" Snape rapped out in his harshest voice and Hagrid realised with a jolt that it was real, he was awake and Snape was in his bedroom, shouting at him.

It was a mixture of shock, tiredness and guilt which prevented him from responding. Irrationally, he convinced himself that Snape had somehow read his mind and discovered the untoward projections of desire the groundskeeper had been revelling in ever since the accident and was now preparing for an acrimonious confrontation.

"Hagrid!" shouted Snape again. Feeling like a thorough coward, Hagrid lay still. Perhaps he would go away and return in the morning, affording Hagrid a few hours in which to concoct some kind of defence.

After a moment, the calling stopped and there were footsteps on the rug - not leaving, as Hagrid hoped, but coming closer.

_This is it,_ thought Hagrid miserably, _I'm dead._

He refused to allow one single muscle to betray him as Snape stopped beside the bed. There was a murmured spell, the rustle of fabric then a slight dipping of the mattress as the potions master sat down, then gently, unbelievably, lay down next to him. Hagrid almost exclaimed aloud at that, but forced himself to be still as he remembered the extreme cunning of the man beside him. Snape was up to something, that much was certain, and Hagrid should not act until he discovered what.

xxx


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning, Hagrid had to ask himself several searching questions, the first and most significant of which was whether or not he had gone insane.

Had he spent so much time engrossed in his fun little Snape-Hagrid world that he had lost sight of the line between fantasy and reality? So improbable did it seem that Severus Snape could have actually climbed into bed with him at the dead of night and cuddled him for half an hour, Hagrid felt quite disturbed, blaming his advancing age and the subtle pressures of the war for having finally unhinged him. Only when he found the single black hair on his pillow, far too delicate and straight to be his own, did he accept that this most unlikely event had indeed taken place.

An enormous grin spread across the giant's face, a grin of relief as well as joy. He hadn't lost the plot after all, but simply become embroiled in a mystery, as was often the case when one lived at Hogwarts.

When the same thing happened the following night, Hagrid was quick to wrap a "sleeping" arm around his uninvited guest. As before, this elicited a sigh of pleasure and Hagrid longed to peek and see if the stern-faced man might possibly be smiling. At the very least, Hagrid reasoned, his face should be as relaxed as it was on the mountain-top with those long lashes fluttering so charmingly against the bags under his eyes.

On the third night, Hagrid went to bed very early and lay in a state of nervous anticipation until the door to the hut opened, signalling that this baffling new development had become a routine. Once again he faked sleep when Snape called his name and then enjoyed the feel of the other wizard's presence in his bed until the vibrating alarm signalled the end of the illicit pleasure and Snape's departure. This time, after the door closed, Hagrid bounded out of bed and watched the dark shape retreating across the lawn towards the castle.

"Don't go," he said quietly. As Snape's silhouette dissolved into the darkness, Hagrid felt his loss. There could still be no telling what purpose drove him to sneak into the hut each night and snuggle up to Hagrid's big body, but Hagrid was delighted.

xxx

After a week of Snape's night-time visits, Hagrid decided to conduct an experiment. Instead of lying on his side so that the potions master could lie down next to him and be easily hugged, he tried lying on his back, curious to find out what would happen.

Snape entered at the usual time and paused as he noticed the change. Useless spells rippled over Hagrid's skin, threatening to give him telltale chuckles as Snape forgot rule number one for dealing with non-humans. He soon gave up on magic and began trying to roll him over with brute force - the strength of which was very impressive for such a slight man. Nevertheless, Hagrid resisted the pushing. Just to see what would happen.

Unfortunately, it appeared that Snape had now run out of ideas because nothing else happened. Seized by a sudden worry that he would leave, depriving Hagrid of a precious night's cuddles, he gave his most convincing snore and sleepily reached out to grab his guest and restore him to his rightful place.

Snape sighed and made himself comfortable, murmuring something into the other man's flesh which sounded like "kill me now".

Moving like that had been a risk. Hagrid breathed in the unusual smell of Snape and decided he preferred not to attempt any further experiments. From now on he would simply enjoy the inexplicable good fortune which had overtaken him.

xxx

On the eleventh night, Snape did not come.

Disappointed, Hagrid gave up hoping to hear the hut door creak open as blue-grey dawn began creeping through the windows. Snape was a boarding school teacher with 24-hour responsibilities after all and there might be one hundred different reasons why he had not been able to slip out of the castle that particular night. There was also the small matter of war. Hagrid was not exactly sure what his duties were and it was probably better for everyone if this remained the case, given his knack for indiscretion, but he was certain that Professor Dumbledore would not waste Snape's plethora of useful skills in a time of national emergency.

He dozed inadequately and with these thoughts preying on his tired mind, got up a few hours later exhausted and worried that something awful had happened to Snape. After feeding Fang he hurried over the dewy lawn to the castle and into the great hall for breakfast.

Snape was not there. Hagrid ate mechanically everything that the elves made appear on the plate without taking his eyes off the side door, answering the few morning greetings he received with grunts. When the owls arrived with the post and newspapers, he leaned rather menacingly over Professor Flitwick and firmly tugged the Daily Prophet out of the tiny wizard's hand with a brief, "S'cuse me, sir, do you mind?" and began scanning it for disastrous news. When he made it as far as page eight without reading of any raids, attacks or other Death Eater activity, the trembling in his fingers subsided. When Professor Dumbledore trotted in late, looking chirpy, added five sugars to his tea, poured it into the saucer to cool then slurped it up so that the ends of his moustache got wet and the first-years giggled at him, something he only did when in a particularly silly mood, Hagrid accepted that nothing awful could have happened to any member of the staff overnight.

There was only one Care of Magical Creatures class that morning - the third years at 11:00. It was a bright group and they were usually fun and full of high spirits before lunch, so Hagrid was rather surprised when at 11:10 only a straggling handful of children could be seen making their way slowly towards the hut.

"Hello, hello," he greeted them with concern. "Everybody all right?" A few pairs of startled eyes blinked up at him. Miss Nolan had clearly been crying. Mr Roberts-Thomas looked like he was about to start. "Where's the rest of the class?"

"Crying in the toilets, mostly," wavered the normally ebullient Irish witch.

"Except for Endeavour and Hyacinth, they're in the hospital wing having panic attacks," offered Roberts-Thomas.

"Merlin's familiar! What happened!?" exclaimed Hagrid.

"Potions class," said Nolan.

Hagrid's stomach did a back flip.

"Sna…Professor Snape was," she paused and looked nervously at the rest of the class and Hagrid resisted the urge to kneel down and shake the information out of her. "Cross," she finished, eventually. There was enthusiastic nodding. Roberts-Thomas lost his battle for dignity and began snivelling into his sleeve.

"He took twenty points because I sneezed," whined Mr Arbuthnot.

"And fifty from me because I'm left-handed," sniffed Miss Price.

"And we're all in detention every weekend for the rest of our time at Hogwarts because we're the 'lamest bunch of incurably dunderheaded freaks that Snape had ever had the misfortune to encounter'!" quoted Nolan, with a little wail.

Relieved that Snape was safe and being his usual self, Hagrid smiled fondly down at them and distributed a few hugs. He needn't have worried. Something had prevented his guest from collecting his nightly snuggles on that occasion, but he would undoubtedly be back later.

xxx

For the second night running, Snape failed to arrive and Hagrid convinced himself once again that the worst had happened. At breakfast, he fixed his eyes on the door until the owls arrived then stole Flitwick's paper, which again contained no information of any use, being almost exclusively concerned with a high-profile Quidditch player who had been caught cheating on his pretty wife. Dumbledore was eating a bowl of brightly-coloured, sugar-frosted cereal which crackled and fizzed so loudly that McGonagall was visibly inching her salted porridge away from it with a disgusted expression. Hagrid leaned over.

"Professor Snape don't seem to be here, sir," he said, trying to sound nonchalant and probably failing.

"Indeed. That is why I am enjoying a nice bowl of Rainbow Pirate Pops!" twinkled Dumbledore, tapping a bright yellow sugar ship with his spoon. "Severus can be rather sensitive early in the morning. The last time I tried to eat this when he was present, the force of his glare melted three knives and a milk jug." One side of McGonagall's mouth quirked upwards approvingly.

"Do you think he's all right, sir?" persisted Hagrid.

"Severus? I should think so. Like you, he doesn't always choose to eat in the hall. Why do you ask?"

xxx

The dungeons were cramped and Hagrid hadn't had cause to venture into the dark and labyrinthine passages since his student days. Doing so now would only get him lost or stuck, so he loitered in the entrance hall, his eyes fixed on the corridor leading down to Slytherin house. After half an hour he had been rewarded with funny looks from several pupils and a punctured quaffle which Peeves had dropped on his head, but not so much as a glimpse of Snape.

xxx

At lunch, he desperately checked the staff table. Again, no Snape.

xxx

After school, he noticed a team practising on the Quidditch pitch and hurried over in case Snape was there supervising his team. The figures were buzzing around too fast to be identified, so he had got within hailing distance of the stands when he spotted Hermione's curly head bent over a book in the front row. Definitely not the Slytherin team, then.

"Hagrid!" she called, before he could retreat. "Oh, thank goodness! Finally, someone with sensible conversation not related to broomsticks!"

"Well," he tried, "I hear Puddlemere aren't doing half bad this season."

"Very funny. Come and sit down," she patted the bench next to her and Hagrid resigned himself to being trapped.

The daylight was beginning to fade when he and Hermione decided to abandon her still-airborne friends and leave the pitch. It hadn't been so bad, he decided as they made their way back towards the castle. He was very fond of the clever witch and their chatting had taken his mind off the present problem for a restful hour. It came sharply back into focus, however, as they rounded the edge of the forest and he saw a stealthy, dark, familiar figure slip through the door of his hut in the twilight.

Snape was in his house.

Hagrid wished Hermione goodnight as kindly as he could and jogged across the lawn, changing direction when he decided to use the back door in case Snape was keeping watch. It was far too early for cuddles and not even properly dark. The Quidditch players were still out and even the first years were not quite in bed yet, in fact, anyone could have glanced out of a castle window and seen him enter. Why on earth was he taking such a risk?

Slowing his pace to something quieter, he tiptoed through the pumpkin patch, hoping the hammering of his heart wouldn't give him away. Perhaps now he would finally discover what lay behind the mysterious nocturnal visits.

More importantly, perhaps he could find a way to make them start again!

xxx


	7. Chapter 7

Thief In The Night Chapter 7

xxx

Snape walked back from the library like a man broken-hearted.

Fury at his own stupidity warred with embarrassment at having been played for a fool by a half-human whose main purpose in life was to clear up thestral dung. The potions master's mind must have been damaged in hitherto unnoticed ways by the avalanche, if he had made such a serious mistake. First the ungovernable urge for cuddling, a pastime completely beneath his dignity before, then the undertaking of an ambitious and underhand project without performing sufficient research beforehand. He was falling apart.

The 'thestral dung' thought came back and struck him as being unfair. Hagrid did indeed shovel shit when the occasion demanded, but there was so much more to the man than that. Only yesterday he had considered him a kind of deity, a vision of muscular if rather hairy perfection and unfortunately this had not suddenly stopped being the case. His mind upset by the shock of his scheme going awry, Snape forced himself to admit that his fascination with Hagrid had become more than a simple attraction to those superb arms. It was only now, as he realised that he would never again be able to get through the drudgery of the day with the thought of a delicious embrace at the end of it, he permitted the forbidden truth to surface.

Stolen nights spent in those powerful arms had become his raison d'être, consuming his every moment and edging out war-worries or the grind of life teaching at Hogwarts.

He was addicted to cuddling Hagrid.

xxx

Snape's Cold Turkey treatment began immediately. He lay in his own bed, wide awake, missing Hagrid so much that it hurt. The warmth, the feeling of security, the lulling motion of his big lungs breathing, the smell of him and the sounds of the forest…he tried conjuring the sensations from memory, but found this only made the absence of the real thing more unbearable. Frustrated, he got up and illuminated every wall torch and lamp in his rooms, determined to conquer the weakness with an all-night reading session. Evidently, he needed to brush up on some potions theory and avoid problems like this happening again.

This problem refused to be ignored, however, and intruded into every paragraph of every book he picked up, leaving him reading the same sentence over and over again without being able to grasp a word. His brain was outside, luxuriating in the hut while his poor eyes tried to pass on what was in front of them.

He tried using firewhisky to drown the memories, but they swam surprisingly well.

Taking potions with so few hours of night remaining before a full morning's teaching was out of the question. Besides, he was now too drunk to brew any.

Morning came and he made coffee from some ancient, compacted grounds lurking in the back of a cupboard rather than risk seeing Hagrid at breakfast in the hall. The result was not exactly delicious - somehow there was a disconcerting aftertaste of gravy - but the caffeine did its job and by the third cup he was able to fully raise his eyelids. The children had evidently scented his weakness, going out of their way to be even more irresponsible and badly behaved purely to annoy him. Well, he wasn't going to let them get away with it. Operating a Zero Tolerance policy, he hit back at the little hooligans and took a record number of house points, prompting a concerned note from Dumbledore, inviting him up for cocoa and "a chat".

At the mention of cocoa, Snape incinerated the parchment with such force that the tabletop ignited. Spiking that damned cocoa had caused this whole fiasco and he had no wish to be reminded of his own idiocy.

After a second day of abstinence, the points hourglasses all stood empty and the dungeons were making Snape feel claustrophobic once more, perhaps because he had now spent 48 hours below ground, refusing to attend meals or go anywhere he risked encountering Hagrid. The need for fresh air and escape eventually drove him to the surface. Cautiously, he made his way to the rear of the castle, past Hufflepuff and the trophy room, checking all the while for the huge, looming presence of Hagrid and being slightly disappointed when he failed to appear. He slipped out through the back door - a much smaller and more functional affair than the grandiose entrance - and walked.

Breaking a sweat felt good. It was hard work scrambling through the less frequented areas of the grounds, mostly just rocks and prickly gorse bushes and he stumbled a few times, snagging his robe. Rabbit tracks criss-crossed the bumpy ground illogically, but few other creatures bothered with this area, including the wretched children, since it was perpetually in the shade of either the foothills to the mountains which swept upwards a few miles off, or of the castle itself. It was always colder here. Horace Slughorn, drunk to the point of poetry, had once referred to the place as the Shadowlands.

"Perfect place for me," Snape sneered, a little breathless.

With tremendous bitterness, he reflected how typical it was that he found himself suffering yet again for the fleeting glimpse of happiness life had allowed him. So rarely he demanded any scrap of comfort from Fate, yet each time he was thwarted, mocked and ended up paying a miserably high price for his audacity. Those blasted brats sometimes dared to call him unfair. He snorted. The pampered, spoiled little apples of their adoring parents' eyes had no concept of the meaning of the word unfair.

He ploughed on along the path less travelled, eyes stinging with fury at the injustice of the world. It was easier to be angry than sad.

Eventually, Snape paused and looked back to find that he had skirted the castle and could now see the Quidditch pitch, the front lawns and beyond that, the crimescene - Hagrid's hut. A team was practising, Gryffindor by the look of the lobster claw attacking formation they had been experimenting with all season and there in the stands, was Hagrid. Snape caught his breath. The sensible reaction would have been to run and hide, though there was really little chance of being seen in the lengthening shadows from this distance. The foolish reaction would have been to approach the person he had been avoiding for two days, the person he had assaulted and now had the power to have him arrested or at least dismissed.

He cast a Notice-Me-Not charm and carefully sneaked over to the pitch.

Underneath the stand, he could see a girl's school shoes next to Hagrid's enormous boots. Ramming his hands in his pockets to fight to sudden urge to reach through the benches and touch those powerful calf muscles, just because they were _his_, Hagrid's, part of the wonderful, godlike structure of that amazing person, Snape gritted his teeth. It was torture to be so near, yet he couldn't tear himself away.

"Oh, RON! Be careful!" The sudden shriek above him could only have come from Granger.

"That was risky," rumbled Hagrid.

"They're such idiots! I can't bear seeing the stupid things they do. It's only a game, for Merlin's sake," she sounded exasperated. Skulking below her, Snape shook his head at her ignorance. Only a game, indeed. Idiot muggleborn.

"Why do you come to watch, then?" asked Hagrid.

"Someone sensible has to be here in case they break their necks. Harry's so accident-prone, I don't know why the headmaster even lets him fly anymore. He should be banned for his own good."

"Good idea. Perhaps you're not such an idiot, after all," murmured Snape, thinking of the vile child's tendency to snatch victory from the hands of his poor hard-working snakes at every opportunity.

"Nah, he loves to fly, does Harry. You can't stop him. It wouldn't be fair." _Fair._ That weasel word again. Snape spat in disgust, but it didn't make him feel any better. There was a friendly silence for a few minutes, making Snape painfully jealous. The prissy know-it-all was allowed to access Hagrid's presence whenever she liked and nobody minded, yet if it had been Snape sitting next to him, there would have been a school scandal.

"You three haven't been to visit me for a while," that warm, reassuring voice continued above Snape's head. "You must come over for cocoa soon."

"That would be lovely," said Granger.

Snape gave an undignified squeak. Fortunately, at the same moment Katie Bell started yelling at someone so it went unheard. Hagrid's cocoa tin still contained the Out-Cold potion, which meant that, although the half-giant himself would never be affected by it, any humans who drank a cup would be, well, out cold within minutes. He imagined Potter, Granger and Weasley slumped over the table in the hut and Hagrid running to Dumbledore in panic. Poisoning the blasted boy-who-lived would be considered a serious offence. If Hagrid lost his job it would be very hard for a man of his stature and lack of formal qualifications to get another, especially once the reason for his sacking became known, as it inevitably would. And if anything happened to the danger-magnet Potter while he was incapacitated…

Snape swallowed. Azkaban would be bad enough, but Hagrid's own despair at having harmed his young friend would be agony for him and it would all have been caused by Snape's greed. He headed for the hut at a run, though he tried his best to stay hidden in the fading light. How had this not occurred to him before? Unlike Snape, Hagrid was a sociable creature and often had visitors, everyone knew that.

Practically falling through the door, he stepped on Fang's tail. Being violently awakened from his peaceful doggy dreams, he began howling at the top of his voice.

"Shh, hush, I'm sorry," said Snape, patting his head. Fang allowed himself to be placated, leaning on the intruder to demand more fuss as compensation. "Yes, yes, all right. Now, move. I need to get to the kitchen." Snape staggered a little under the considerable weight of a fully-grown adult boarhound, who refused to budge. For an agonising few minutes he was forced to pet and speak kindly to Fang before managing to edge around him and get to the shelves.

Seizing the cocoa tin, Snape realised that there was a new problem. If he vanished the contents with an _evanesco_, Hagrid would wonder where the ample supply of the previous day had gone. The disappearance of the whole tin would be no less strange. Since there was no time to dash to the kitchens and get some replacement cocoa from the elves, perhaps the best thing to do would be to make the powder as solid and difficult to manage as his old coffee had been that morning, so that Hagrid himself threw it out. It would still be a bit odd that cocoa should go stale so quickly, but it was probably the most plausible solution. He could leave one corner of the tin slightly open, as though Hagrid had neglected to completely close it the previous night.

Fang's tail thumped against the back of his thigh and the dog gave a deep, welcoming "woof", almost sounding like a greeting. He felt a breath of cool evening air stir through the still of the hut and cursed under his breath.

"Professor?" said Hagrid, behind him.

"Hagrid," Snape turned, tin in hand, his survival instincts taking over. "Please excuse the intrusion. It was an emergency."

"Emergency?" The groundskeeper looked him up and down, taking in the rips in his robe and dirty boots following his long walk through the Shadowlands. Realising he was also sweaty and generally dishevelled, he felt a most unusual urge to tidy his hair, straighten his clothing and make himself look nicer. Although he was well aware of his serious physical shortcomings, it was galling to know that the man of his obsessive dreams had to see him in such a state.

"Emergency," he repeated, leg muscles choosing that unfortunate moment to suddenly begin aching. His knees trembled as he concocted the lie. "I require cocoa most urgently…for a potion."

"What potion?" Hagrid could see him shaking, he was sure of it.

"It…ah…top secret. For the headmaster."

"Oh." Improbably, Hagrid looked disappointed. Snape had no idea why. "Of course you can take anything you need, sir, but isn't there any in the kitchens?"

"No," said Snape, flatly. Fang looked up at him with what seemed to Snape to be disbelief. He elaborated quickly. "Honeyduke's made a mistake with the usual order. Instead of Skrummy Snooze Cocoa they delivered a bumper barrel of cockroach clusters."

"Oh," Hagrid said again. Fang nodded as though he accepted the story and Snape relaxed, relieved at having salvaged the situation. He thanked Hagrid and was making for the door when Hagrid said:

"I thought you might have come for some more cuddles."

xxx

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Hagrid regretted them. The professor stopped dead and began visibly shaking. The look of panic was completely unexpected, not something he had ever seen before on that inscrutable face. With his hair all messed and his usually perfect appearance so battered, he looked like he had suffered some dreadful ordeal. Now, with his usual clumsiness, the half-human oaf had gone and upset him even more.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said at once. "Forget I mentioned it. You're very busy. Let me know if there's anything else I can get for you." Instead of taking advantage of the friendly dismissal, as Hagrid had anticipated, Snape remained where he was, convulsively clutching the cocoa tin to his chest. The silence stretched out and Hagrid realised that the potions master didn't know what to do. Several times he opened his mouth as though about to speak, only to close it again, looking more distressed than before. Trying to put him at ease, Hagrid fell back on the time-honoured routine of hospitality in the hope that he might be able to coax out whatever the professor was struggling to articulate.

"Cup of tea, sir?" he offered brightly. "I'll have the kettle on in a jiffy, just have a seat." He pointed cheerfully at the best armchair, the one with the fewest teethmarks and the closest resemblance to its original shape. Snape, still apparently too startled to function, stared at it. Hagrid turned his back and bustled around for a while. When he presented the mismatched tea tray, he was pleased to see that his guest had perched on the edge of the chair, although he still looked alarmed and the hands gripping the tin were white.

"Milk?" asked Hagrid, as though the situation were perfectly normal.

"A little," said Snape.

"Sugar?"

"No."

Hagrid handed him the mug and Snape finally put down the tin to take it, smoothing his hair down self-consciously with his other hand. He cleared his throat.

"I apologise," he said, then took a sip of tea. His eyes widened and there was a small choking sound deep in his throat.

"Sorry. I sometimes forget I like it stronger than most folk," grimaced Hagrid. Snape shook his head.

"No matter. In any case, I was apologising, not you."

"For what?"

There was another silence, during which Fang padded over to Snape's seat, collapsed heavily onto his feet and fell asleep.

"I can move him off, if that's uncomfortable," Hagrid offered.

"He's fine." He took a deep breath. "I shouldn't have come here at night, invading your privacy in that way. I realise what I did was unforgivable and if you would like me to resign, I shall do so. If you wish to press charges, you are of course within your rights."

Hagrid's big, hairy jaw fell open.

"What are you talking about?"

Snape glared at him, looking more like his usual self than he had throughout the conversation.

"The…ah…_cuddles,_ as you described them just now," he snapped. "I drugged you and broke into your home in order to get into your bed as you slept, breaking several laws in the process."

"Why did you stop?" was the first and most important question that came into Hagrid's head. A second later his brain processed the professor's statement fully. "And what do you mean, drugged?" Uneven patches of colour appeared on Snape's neck and face. He pointed to the tin.

"I brewed Out-Cold potion and put it in your cocoa so that you would definitely be asleep when I arrived. It was an unpleasant thing to do," he looked up sharply. "But I have since discovered that Out-Cold does not affect anyone with any non-human blood in them, so you must have been awake all the time."

Blushes appeared on Hagrid's face this time.

"I was."

Snape took another sip of tea and winced again at the strength of the brew.

"Whyever did you pretend? Why not toss me out on my ear?"

A slow, nervous smile spread across the groundskeeper's still-flushed face and he stared coyly into his mug. It was confession time all round. The professor had been honest with him, although it was clearly causing him great strain, so it was only fair that he answered honestly.

"Because I liked it," he mumbled, into his tea. When there was no response, Hagrid glanced up to see Snape, who had gone from patchy red to ghostly white, gaping at him like an astounded fish. "Since the avalanche, I've been thinking of you all the time," he elaborated, to further piscine reaction from Snape. In for a knut, in for a galleon. "I've really missed you since you stopped coming."

After more gaping, Snape eventually managed to gasp out:

"Why?"

"Well," Hagrid smiled again. "Everybody likes cuddles, don't they?"

"I imagine so. But in my experience, nobody likes unpleasant, ugly, hook-nosed potions masters," he sneered, the bitterness of decades in his voice.

"All the more for me then. I'm quite partial to them, myself," said Hagrid happily. "Now, will you stay with me tonight? Only I've got a colicky grindylow in the bath, but I can move her."

Snape leaned forward, scrutinising the groundskeeper's face for any sign of malice or mockery, but of course, there was none and probably never had been any. Ever. Exhausted from the pressure of the past 48 hours, he felt limp. All of his traumas had been for nothing and as usual, he had caused himself enormous amounts of pain and anxiety by doing things the hard way. It appeared that all he had to do was ask and Hagrid, his warmth, his reassuring great heartbeat and those divine arms could be his, perfectly legitimately.

He sank back into the huge armchair and closed his eyes, tears forming in his eyes at the thought that finally, something in his dark and miserable life had gone right.

"Are you all right, sir?" Hagrid's voice was close now, as though he was kneeling on the floor next to him. A rogue tear broke away from underneath his eyelids and ran down his cheek. He nodded and the warm weight of the dog lifted from his feet.

"Don't call me that," he whispered, eyes still closed.

"Are you all right, Severus?" the voice was even closer, the great warm body leaning over him as the tea mug was lifted from his hands and placed on the floor. Snape lifted his arms passively and Hagrid's hands squeezed his sides before sliding behind him and pulling him forward into an intoxicating hug. His face rested against Hagrid's neck, pleasantly tickled by the wiry hair from his head and beard and smelling deliciously of everything he needed.

"Yes, Rubeus," he sighed. "I'm perfectly all right."

xxx


End file.
